Lonelier When You're Here
by Jess J
Summary: Rated for sexual content. She said nothing more, did not say why, did not say goodbye, did not say thank you, or even you’re welcome. She simply laid there, her eyes closing as she took in her last few moments of rest. Please review.


Author's note: I actually wrote this ficlet two and a half weeks ago, but because of a trip, I wasn't able to upload it here before I left. So, here it is. I hope to update my other stories soon as well. This is certainly among my more, unconventional ships, but somehow I like it. Ah, the joy of having a lycan loyalist muse who pities vampires. Please review, as reviews make my muse happy and help her to inspire me.

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters that are mentioned in this story, they are all property of Kevin Grevioux, Danny McBride, Len Wiseman, and Sony. Please do not sue me, I'm just a poor girl that loves to write, is too deep in fandom, and means absolutely no harm or copyright infringement. Savvy?

**********************

****

LONELIER WHEN YOU'RE HERE

It was always so cold, her touch. She was so frozen, but he had come to love the cold. Love it more than the feeling of human warmth when he fed. He always felt warm when she wasn't touching him now. It was like a fever, an illness.

Like withdrawal, as the humans would say. Like coming off a drug.

He hated her for doing this to him. Or he tried to. Sometimes he would succeed, but then he would see her again. He would not see her for years, decades, centuries, and he would make himself hate her, he would get through his need, his withdrawal.

And then she would come back, enter a room with that catlike grace and confident posture, her eyes cold and empty until they looked at him. Something would flicker, like a spark of life, trying to catch fire. Yet it never did really.

All that happened was he felt feverish again, his cravings back in full force as he remembered how cold her porcelain skin felt, how icy her caresses were when she stroked his face, his arms, his stomach. He remembered how cold she was inside, how wonderful it was to make her burn for just a moment of pleasure. He remembered how it felt, and he would hunger, crave, need.

She would let him sate his need, her own lust evident when she bit and sucked, clawed, held him fast as she finally allowed herself to moan, a soft sound that made him shudder. She would close her eyes, throwing her head back, baring her swanlike neck to him, tempting him.

It was maddening.

Because it was something she would never allow. She was an Elder, and she was pureblood. He may have been born a vampire, but he was not her consort, not even a public fling. He was her dark little secret, something she did not want the others to know. She could drain him dry, but he could not make a mark upon her body.

He hated it, was humiliated by it. But his pride hardly overcame his need.

No matter how hard he tried, no matter how much pleasure he gave her, it was never enough for her to overlook who he was. He was not even a Death Dealer anymore, merely the bodyguard for Viktor's regent, head of Kraven's own personal goon squad that dealt with more, unseemly, matters.

That was not what she wanted to be attached to openly. She took her pleasure from him, and she left him with a sated body but a broken soul. And still, a part of him wanted to believe she cared for him. He was not delusional enough to even let the thought of love cross his mind, but if she could just care about him, just care the tiniest bit, it was enough.

It was still just a delusion.

Which only made the knowledge of their future harder to bare. He kept praying, hoping that if there was a God somewhere out there, he would make her care. Because if she cared, if she just cared, Soren knew he would drop it all. He would ruin everything Kraven had planned alongside Lucian, and behind the lycan's back.

Amelia was too cold to even notice how much he wanted her affections.

He was used to it by now. It did not lessen the pain, but he was used to it, suffered through it. He would be able to hate her by the time she would die. He would not see her for nearly a century, because she had decided to leave for the settlement in America.

She was giving him the easiest way out. Letting him build up his hatred for her. He would not se her again after she left, unless he caught a glimpse of her corpse. She would leave, he would hate her, and he would make certain the lycans killed her the night of her return to Budapest. She was making it so easy for him.

He didn't want easy.

_Warmth_

He wanted her.

_Cold_

With a sigh, Soren sat up on the bed, moving his legs off as he reached for his pants. He felt a cold hand slid up his back and over his shoulder as an equally cold body pressed itself to him. He leaned back into her, letting her other arm wrap around him in a similar way.

"Not yet," she whispered into his ear.

A shiver ran down his spine, and he nodded. Her word was law, after all, and his body was in no condition to go against her wishes now. He removed her arms and turned to face her, slowly leaning over her. He pressed her back onto the mattress, for a moment just staring down at her.

Midnight hair splayed out around her head, over her breasts, a sharp contrast of the silvery skin, smooth and cold as marble. Her long legs were hanging off the bed on either side of him, her bony arms raised above her head. She still held that same air to her, that aura that said she was queen, she was in control.

But Soren could sometimes take it away from her, and he planned to now.

They were kissing within seconds, bodies rubbing against each other. Hands traveled down a slim waist and grabbed slender legs, spreading them apart as one hand moved up. An elegant mouth opened in a gasp as fingers stroked against a very sensitive spot.

It was slipping, her control.

She wasn't trying to stop it.

Amelia clung to him, her fingers digging into the muscles of his arms, as he continued to stroke her core, the only part of her he ever made warm, ever felt become warm. She moaned softly, somehow still holding onto a shred of her dignity even as he pushed her closer to a frenzy.

The scent of arousal filled the room, and Soren could feel her reaching the end. That was when he moved his hand away.

An undignified whimper escaped her lips, but his mouth covered hers before she could order him to finish. Both hands holding her waist, he thrust into her, breaking the kiss to throw his head back and groan. He forgot everything finally.

Forgot she didn't care, forgot he was going to help kill her, forgot that this was nothing but a fix.

Soren wrapped his arms around her body as he continued to thrust into her, feeling her own nails digging into the skin of his back as she ran her fingers up and down, her own eye shut tightly. He kissed her open, moaning mouth, feeling it build up, and he knew she was already at the edge.

With a cry, she came, trembling and shuddering beneath him as he entered her over and over, her muscles tightening, body tensing. She clung to him tightly, legs wrapping around his hips. She bit into his shoulder, her control completely forgotten.

As her fangs slid into his skin, not quite drinking from him yet, he shuddered himself, and he came inside her, feeling a strange heat, somehow still cold. This was as warm as they ever got, but it was scalding as far as he was concerned. He groaned in pleasure of his release, holding her just as tightly as she gripped him.

They laid still for a few minutes, panting, eyes closed. Then they disentangled their bodies, moving away. She still laid on the bed, he was slipping into his pants.

"I leave for the train station within two hours," she stated. "I will not see you again until my return."

Soren hid the brief, bitter stab of pain he felt at the lack of any emotion in her voice. "Are you so certain of that, Milady?" He turned to face her, reaching over her body to grab his shirt. "What if one of us dies first?"

Amelia stared at him intensely, her eyes narrowing in confusion more than suspicion. "That is highly unlikely."

She said nothing more, did not say why, did not say goodbye, did not say thank you, or even you're welcome. She simply laid there, spread out, her eyes closing as she took in her last few moments of rest.

He turned, grabbing his boots and putting them on quickly. Slipped out her door, walked away without a glance back. His fast pace took him swiftly to Kraven's office where the regent was going over papers. Soren came to receive his first orders of the night

It was going to be a long night. And he was desperate for something to keep his mind occupied. But as he stood there, as Kraven absently told him what he needed to do, he could feel that hatred, deep in the back of his mind.

She did not care.

He would not tell.


End file.
